Just let me have this one
by TSFL
Summary: In which Arthur disregards his health and both him and Eames are too stubborn for their own good. Slash.


**I'm so happy to have a computer again I'm literally crying (figuratively because the word literally has lost its meaning to my generation) Anywayy I was watching ant man and thought, hey, I should start writing again (This has nothing to do with anything, I just like to talk to myself). I know Inception came out more than 5 years ago but it's never too late to fall in love, right? This is the first Inception fic I've ever written but I've been reading Inception fics for a solid 4 months so I hope this is okay. Anyways, please enjoy this!**

 **...**

It's only a test run, and Eames knows the drill. They have a few weeks before their mark, an affluent man named Wesley Branson who may or may not be running a rogue branch of the CIA and may or may not have murdered his wife, can be cornered. Rumor is, he has subconscious defenses. Given his supposed clearance level, no one is surprised. Yusuf had wanted to experiment with somnacin compositions, "to build a more stable dreamscape," was what he'd said. He'd pleaded hyperrealism would seem more natural and they could test environments as when they went under. Cobb had agreed, eyes sharp with understanding, with faith. Which is why Eames is breathing in the musty air of the warehouse basement, slipping a needle into a spot on Arthur's arm that he could find with his eyes closed while outside the sun is rising, casting shadows on half the city.

Secretly, Eames loves test runs, because only in dreams does Arthur show affection. Only in dreams is Eames allowed to hold him, to taste him, to make him moan. At least at work, where there's always a chance someone might catch them. Outside of the work, in the privacy Arthur's own apartment, for example, Arthur is affectionate. He smiles, lets his dimples show, even laughs sometimes. And secretly, he's a cuddle whore.

"Are you ready, darling?" Eames adjusts the needle so that it's just so, pausing because Arthur's skin feels warm.

"Why are you making that face?" Arthur looks at Eames expectantly.

"No reason in particular, just imagining you scandalizing Yusuf in your sleep instead of me." Unsurprisingly, the forger's teasing earns a grade A scowl from the point man.

"You're unbearable." Cobb leans against the doorframe and Yusuf sits by the PASIV, passively letting the scene in front of them unfold.

"Sleep well, love." Eames murmurs as Yusuf presses the button and amber liquid begins to flow into Arthur's veins. Arthur opens his mouth, a retort already formed, but his eyes slide shut before the words can leave his lips, long lashes greeting his cheekbones. Eames presses the back of his hand to Arthur's arm now that the point man isn't in a state to object, and frowns again. Arthur's arms _are_ uncharacteristically warm. He's about to reach for Arthur's forehead when Cobb says clears his throat purposefully and looks pointedly at the vacant chair beside Yusuf. Eames catalogues his suspicions for later and lets them wire him up. Within seconds, he's asleep.

He blinks and then he's in a forest, surrounded by lush hues of green and sunlight filtering down through the trees. To his side is a grey railing, and across from that is a waterfall. Peering over the railing, Eames notes that it seems to go on indefinitely, though the small blur of deep brown suggests rocks at the bottom. Either way, it would be a long and unpleasant fall. Another thing Eames notes is that it's hot as shit.

Eames traverses the forest, which he's now deemed a tourist attraction with little interruption. By the time he finds Arthur sitting on a bench, watching the whitewater fall, he's sweating profusely.

"Fancy meeting you here," Arthur turns around, exasperation clouding his face upon hearing the British accent.

"Must they always make you my precautionary?"

"I request it, darling. No one has yet to object, except for you." Eames lilts as he takes a seat besides Arthur. "How can you wear an outfit like that when it's so humid? You're all sorts of out of place." Over the course of the dream, Eames has changed his outfit to a short-sleeved paisley dress shirt that hugs his biceps. Arthur is still wearing his traditional three piece suit, and it looks to be having an effect on him. Perspiration gathers on his face and though his hair conforms mostly to its gelled standard, a few strands are beginning to curl around his ears. To put it mildly, he looks uncomfortable.

"It's my dream, so it doesn't matter. This mixture is too strong, by the way. See the trees over there? The lines are a little too sharp, like a badly edited picture."

"Yusuf won't like that description much, now will he?" Arthur shrugs, grips his collar and holds it out to fan himself.

"Better to be accurate than to spare his feelings and cost us a job." Arthur notes as he pinches the bridge of his nose. From experience, Eames knows that Arthur does this when he's beginning to get a migraine.

"Arthur," Eames begins, kissing the point man on the cheek, distracting him from his head. Arthur turns to meet Eames lips, but as soon as he closes his eyes and leans forward, the forger pulls back. "You're ill, darling."

"Excuse me?" Arthur glances at Eames, unphased, eyes hard.

"You clearly have a fever. That's why it's so hot in here, why it's so humid. It's your body doing all this, pet."

"You deduced all that from the temperature? Congratulations, Eames. You're a regular Sherlock Holmes. " Arthur deadpans. Eames fingers the fabric of Arthur's suit, so sure of himself despite Arthur's denial.

"Don't play around with me, I felt it before I went under, when I was putting the needle in you. And I know your body normal temperature by now, Arthur," Eames notes the faint darkening of Arthur's ears after he says body temperature, "and you were warm, much too warm."

"I'm fine." Says Arthur.

"You shouldn't be down here, love."

"I'm _fine."_ Arthur repeats with a growl. Around them, several projections stop and turn their heads, blank stares predating their aggression. Arthur's subconscious, it appears, is privy to flares of emotion regarding Eames.

"Ah, I know I excite you, but control yourself, darling." Arthur barely has time to shoot a menacing glare in Eames direction before Eames' lips are on his, gentle and warm. Eames feels the tension of the environment abate as several pairs of eyes leave his back. He chuckles to himself, "It works because you like me." When Arthur doesn't reply, Eames notices that the point man is pinching the bridge of his nose again and that he's starting to pale yet managing to look faintly green at the same time. Before he can say anything, Arthur holds a finger up.

"Don't-" Arthur takes a deep breath, "say anything." He grits his teeth, "I'm fine." And then he rises and everything goes to shit.

The sky begins to waver, like heat waves on a hot summer day. Eames hears the sound of rushing water faintly in the distance. "Arthur?" He says urgently, "What's going on, love, hey," though evidently Arthur is too focused on something else to respond coherently. Eames is concerned with how shallow Arthur's breathing is becoming as he mutters about it being " _so fucking hot it's fine I'm fine just-"_ The sound of branches crackling causes Eames to whip his head around, and his heart drops as he sees a torrent of whitewater as high as the forest itself consuming everything in its murky path. Trees are uprooted, falling like dominos, made light as the waves carry them away, and people are swept up, looking straight up with horror and resignation, screams drowned by the current. All this in a matter of seconds. The wave is heading straight for them.

"Bleeding Christ, Arthur." He mutters before he pulls out his pistol and shoots Arthur in the temple, clean and precise, and then himself, but not before the water claims him. The last thing he feels is the sensation of water surrounding him- heavy and warm, filling his ears and his nose and his lungs and he can't fucking move and Arthur's body falls away from him, sinks actually, while the current is carrying them away, but the butt of his gun is against his heart and his finger is on the trigger and he's still watching Arthur's body disappear into the water but he squeezes and hears the shot and-

Eames wakes up with a gasp, greedily taking in air after being faced with the absence of it. He rips the PASIV's needle out of him. Next to him, Arthur is doing the same, a wavering look on his face.

"Well?" Says Yusuf, expectantly at the same time Arthur straightens up and mutters, "Bathroom," before walking briskly away.

"The lines of his dream were too sharp, like a badly edited picture." Yusuf looks slightly scandalized at the defamation of his hard work, so Eames adds, "his words, not mine." Yusuf nods, scribbling something on the nearest piece of paper he can find. His brow is already furrowed in concentration, already thinking of ways to edit another compound and he settles down as his scribbles grow in area.

"Should someone check on him?" Yusuf asks, looking up.

"No." Cobb answers immediately, firmly, "He'll come back on his own."

"I've got it," Volunteers Eames. He hops off the inclined seat and goes to do exactly what Cobb has just said not to do, with enough purpose in his step that neither of the other men try too hard to interfere.

"Leave him some dignity, Eames." He hears Cobb say, although he's already halfway down the hall. He makes his way through dimly lit concrete corridors until he reaches the closest bathroom. The door, flecked with specks of brown and green rust, is shut, so he assumes he's in the right spot. A choked cough sounds from behind the door, confirming Eames assumptions. It's followed by awful retching noises that leave Eames cringing outside the door. Eames debates on knocking but decides against it, choosing instead to lean against the wall and wait. The toilet flushes and the sink runs, Eames hears the click of the door unlocking and then Arthur emerges.

"My, my, darling. It looks like you've certainly had better days." Eames is right, Arthur's skin has taken on a grayish tint, and dark circles are pooling underneath his eyes. Still, the look Arthur gives him is _vicious._

"I don't need you to follow me, Eames."

"Perhaps I was merely waiting in line for the restroom."

"And this is suddenly the only one in the warehouse?"

"The closest." Eames hardly bats an eyelash.

"Unbearable." Arthur mutters underneath his breath. He starts to walk back towards the dream room, wavers a bit, ends up pressing a palm against the wall to steady himself.

"You really should just go home, love," Eames sighs, ducking himself underneath Arthur's free arm so that Arthur has some form of support. Arthur withdraws his arm from Eames' shoulder and drops the other from the wall.

"I'm _fine."_ He snaps, "Stay out of it." Arthur continues to walk down the corridor and Eames trails him.

"Why must you be so harsh? You need rest, love." Arthur quickens his pace.

"Stop with the fucking nicknames, Eames."

"No one's here to see or hear us, pet." And then Arthur stops abruptly and whirls around, _cut your shit_ written all over his face. He grabs Eames by the fabric of his paisley jacket, pushes him against the wall and brings his face close. Close enough so that Eames can feel his breath, hot and angry and a little pungent.

"Look." Their eyes are deadlocked, "I am perfectly _okay._ To work, to research, to fucking _be here_ so I can do all the shit I always have to do. We are _coworkers._ No one, and certainly not me, has asked you to care or to hover around like you're my fucking grandmother. If you say one more word regarding my health, I will paint these walls with your brain. Do you understand me?"

"Suit yourself." Eames says in a low tone.

Arthur releases him and walks away wordlessly. Eames smoothes out his jacket in the places where Arthur's fists bunched the fabric too tightly, listening to the fading sound of Arthur's footsteps. He tries not to think of how Arthur's body radiated heat, how they were so close he could feel the fever coming off of him in waves. He also tries not to think of the tug in his stomach, of the detail at which he could see Arthur's irises and the colored patches in his cheeks.

He resigns to let Arthur wreck himself over the course of the day.

...

To Eames smug satisfaction, and to his slight pangs of guilt, Arthur's condition worsens as the day continues.

...

The workspace in the warehouse offers little privacy. There was no time or practical need for cubicles so everyone simply claimed their own space, resulting in a cluster rather than complete use of the area. Currently, the room is filled with the sound of papers rustling, materials clinking and Yusuf's humming to himself. Eames is leaning back in his chair, reading newspaper articles that feature Branson's wife, Elise, memorizing her tight lipped smile, the miniscule slouch in her posture. Arthur bleeds into his thoughts, making it hard to give the task his full attention. Suddenly, he hears a pinched sound.

Newspaper still halfway covering his face, Eames steals a glance at Arthur. He watches Arthur's head bob down slightly twice, a hand over his nose and mouth. The motion is practically imperceptible, but Eames is an expert in Arthur. Arthur culminates the experience with a small sigh, and Eames diverts his attention back to the newspaper.

Arthur sniffs, and returns to the stack of papers on his desk.

Eames doesn't say anything.

...

Sometime later, Arthur has the first of several coughing fits. It starts out small, as Arthur muffles the sound and then grows in severity, turning harsh and doglike. Ariadne walks by, startled because she's never seen Arthur display himself as anything less than immaculate. Her features soften and she looks to Eames who looks away. She contemplates rubbing his back. Her arm hovers tentatively over Arthur's shaking back but she ends up awkwardly fixing her hair when she decides against it. Instead she walks away and returns with a tall glass of water. By now Arthur is done, and he smiles graciously at her offer, cheeks dimpling. He sips at the water.

"Tha-" He blushes as his voice fails him and clears his throat, "thank you, sorry." She responds in accord and Arthur pinches the bridge of his nose as she leaves.

Eames, slightly jealous, doesn't say anything.

...

Cobb walks by Arthur's desk once and turns up the thermostat five minutes later.

Eames doesn't say anything.

...

Eames is searching Elise Branson's social media when he hears another set of pinched sounds. He doesn't look up, but pictures Arthur at his desk, shoulders tensing and pitching forward. Arthur sighs, and then his breath snags again and this time, he cannot suppress himself. He sneezes audibly and Eames ends up staring. It's medium volume, which is loud for Arthur, and so forceful that a few strands of hair fly loose. Arthur sniffles loosely and looks at Eames, who pointedly resumes his research. When Arthur gets up, blushing and refusing to meet anyone's eyes, sniffling and refusing to let his hand stray from its place underneath his nose, Eames watches him walk away and does not say anything.

...

Around eleven, Arthur leaves his desk and doesn't return for over ten minutes. Eames, intrigued, takes the longest route he possibly can to the bathroom. He passes a few closed doors and then pauses when he thinks he sees a dress shoe through the crack of the coat room. Carefully, he nudges the door open, revealing Arthur asleep on a musty couch. He's on his side using an arm as a makeshift pillow. Sunlight filters in through the blinds, casting striped shadows over Arthur's form, turning strips of his dark hair a shade of amber. He's snoring softly, which is unusual and trembling, which is pathetic. Eames runs his hands through his hair, and gently drapes a jacket over Arthur; Cobb's, not his own.

When Arthur returns half an hour later, his hair tousled so that a few stray strands hang on his forehead, Cobb and Ariadne acknowledge him with concerned glances. He tries to communicate something with his eyes to Cobb who, judging by his furrowed eyebrows and parted lips, doesn't understand the point man's pleading gaze. Arthur shrugs with a sniffle, and carries on back to his desk.

Eames and Arthur make eye contact, which Arthur breaks, and Eames does not say anything.

...

At noon, most of the team starts to disperse for lunch except for Arthur who claims tells them to go on without him. It's clear that Arthur wants to be left alone, so no one objects. Eames cheerfully accepts Ariadne's invitation to join the rest of the team for Italian food. When they're three blocks away, Eames pauses, pats his front pockets, and exclaims,

"Oh, it seems I've forgotten my wallet!"

"I can pay for you if you want," Ariadne offers, "It's not too expensive."

"Oh no, love, you're in school, save some money. Thank you kindly for the offer, but I prefer not to have debts. It's not too far, I'll meet you all in a bit."

"It's no trouble really," Ariadne begins to protest as Eames turns around. "Hey, you don't need to go back-" The pressure of Cobb's hand on her shoulder makes her stop. She watches Eames walk away, perplexed while Cobb rolls his eyes and Yusuf grins cheekily. Later, after they've waited in line for ten minutes and Eames still hasn't returned, the proverbial gears begin to turn in Ariadne's head, and because she now understands, she smiles too.

...

The wet sound of Arthur's coughing echoes through the warehouse as Eames slips in. Arthur punctuates the fit with a soft groan and a weak sniff and then folds his arms over his desk and puts his head down.

"Comfortable, darling?"

"What are you doing here?" Arthur shoots up, shoulders drooping wearily after he realizes it's only Eames. He looks to be the epitome of exhaustion.

Eames produces his wallet with a flourish and taps it for emphasis, "Forgot this."

"Oh." Arthur clears his throat, "Alright."

"Want me to bring you something?" Arthur pales involuntarily, presumably at the mention of food and shakes his head. Arthur massages his temples and closes his eyes.

"I'm alright. They must be waiting for you."

"I'll be there soon enough," Eames risks placing hand on Arthur's shoulder. When the younger man doesn't object, Eames starts to work his thumbs against Arthur's back and Arthur lets him. Slowly, Eames kneads Arthur's shoulders, his back, staying quiet as Arthur gradually relaxes and begins to lean into his touch. The warehouse looms around them with its criss-crossing beams, and they are just two people occupying a small space in this massive building by themselves, shadows combining on a dusty floor. Arthur ruins their comfortable silence with one of his pinched sneezes.

"Bless you," Arthur nods and sniffs. Eames moves to kiss Arthur on the cheek.

"N-no," Arthur stiffens and inhales shakily, "don't-" He turns his face swiftly away from Eames. Then he dashes towards the nearest wastebasket with a hand over his mouth and gags. Eames follows him.

"Oh, darling." Arthur moans, produces a strangled cough, and then his eyes grow wide and he's gagging again, shaking uncontrollably. Squatting down, Eames starts to rub Arthur's back as the point man chokes up bile. Arthur hangs over the wastebasket for almost a minute after he's done and then settles back against the wall. Eames goes to fill a glass of water and finds Arthur with his arms wrapped loosely around himself. He accepts the water soundlessly, but Eames notes that the liquid trembles as he raises it to his mouth. He doesn't say anything.

"Fuck." Arthur swallows with a grimace and looks at the ground. "I'm sorry you had to see that."

"It's alright, darling." Eames takes a spot next to Arthur, drawing Arthur close. He can feel Arthur shaking and he doesn't like it, but he stays quiet. Instead, he guides Arthur's head to his shoulder, and Arthur lets him. They share a silence interrupted only by Arthur's labored breaths until the point man clears his throat softly.

"At first, I thought it was all a side effect," Arthur mumbles wearily, "you know, from that compound."

Eames twists Arthur's hair through his fingers.

"Feeling better, darling?"

"Don't be an ass, Eames." Arthur huffs, curbing the moment.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm going back to work," Arthur starts to get up, and Eames, finally snapping, yanks his wrist. Even when he's healthy, Arthur cannot ignore that Eames is bigger than him, but he offers hardly any resistance as Eames jerks him back down. He crashes awkwardly into the forger. He hisses softly as he lands, dizzy. "What the fuck, Eames?"

And that's when Eames lets go. He opens his mouth, stares Arthur square in the face, and he says something.

"What the fuck? What the fuck, Arthur? I'll tell you what the bloody fuck." By now Arthur separated himself from Eames, and he stands silently while Eames berates him, quite like a doe. "You are ill. You are so painfully, obviously ill and you should not be here. Don't act like everyone hasn't been listening to your hacking and sneezing and-" Eames nudges his head in the direction of the wastebasket, "not to mention that, all morning. You can hardly bloody stand up. You're overworking yourself, darling. You always are, and now you're sick as a bloody dog and you still insist that you're well. I just want you to _care_ about your health, everyone does. Cobb and Ariadne keep staring at you, Yusuf probably suspects this is all his fault, and _I_ know you're full of shit."

"Eames I-"

"You what, Arthur? You're fine?" Eames quickly presses a hand to Arthur's forehead, scowling at what he feels and then moving on before Arthur has a chance to interrupt. "You're burning the fuck up, and you want me to what? To watch you work yourself into the ground? Blow my sodding brains out Arthur, become a blood fucking Picasso, but I'm telling you that you need to go home."

The silence that follows Eames speech is deafening. Arthur sighs, letting his shoulders droop, his face fall. Exhaustion bleeds through his body language.

"It was-" Arthur's eyes dart to his shoes, "it was wrong of me to yell at you, earlier." And then in a soft, miserable voice, "I feel awful."

"I know darling, I know." Eames presses a kiss to Arthur's clammy temple. Arthur pitches forward with another stunted sneeze. "Bless you." Arthur shoots him a weary glance in response.

"I have so much work to do," Arthur says in small, miserable voice. He motions towards the mountains of paperwork crowding his desk.

"And you can do it all tomorrow," Eames says, unflinching.

"I'm taking my laptop. My notes."

"Darling, have you ever heard of the man who worked himself to death? Might as well just take your whole office, perhaps the warehouse itself?"

"Shut up, Eames. Shut-" Arthur cuts himself off as he begins to cough, stopping midway to his desk as he's overcome by the force of lungs rebelling. Eames maneuvers himself to steady Arthur, but the point man raises an arm, indicating that he'd rather pass out than accept assistance. Regardless, Eames wraps himself around Arthur's small frame.

"I don't mean to be cruel. I'm not much of worrier, but when it comes to you I find myself caring a little too much." Arthur sighs against him, cheeks coloring. Eames' hands are cradled beneath Arthur's ribs, and the point man grasps them, long, pale fingers hooking over the forger's rough knuckles. He thumbs at Eames weathered skin for a moment before breaking the embrace.

"Let's just go."

"I thought you'd never ask."

So Eames goes to get Arthur's coat and only gives Arthur a moderate eye roll when he comes back out to find him stuffing paperwork into his bag. When they reach the car, Arthur sags miserably into the upholstery, guards finally broken. Eames turns up the heat, even though it's a mild spring day, and eventually turns the radio off once Arthur falls asleep with his cheek pressed against the window. While Arthur slumbers, Eames could be saying a multitude of things. While he does think of saying, "I told you so" just to be cheeky, he does not. He glances at Arthur, who looks serene despite his uncomfortable position and the tendrils of hair falling into his face. He thinks of drawing a warm bath for Arthur, of letting Arthur wear his flannel pajama bottoms, of Arthur finally allowing himself to rest in his arms. He smiles, and then, because the light has changed, he pulls forward.

...

When Cobb, Yusuf, and Ariadne return from lunch, with two calzones boxed neatly in a bag, no one is surprised when the warehouse is empty. Cobb returns to work, Yusuf laughs to himself and then claims the leftovers before disappearing into the darker corners of the warehouse, and Ariadne simply smiles and does not say anything.

...

 **If you're reading this that means you've reached the end! Reviews would be greatly appreciated but since you decided to read this I already appreciate you anyway. :)**


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